else
dead? I got that guy in the bunk house--drilled him three times."

"Look out for that fellow over there. Maybe I brained him, but I'm not
sure."

Knowlton was already down on his knees beside Jose, working fast to loop
a tourniquet and stop the flow from the pierced arm. With a handkerchief
and his pistol barrel he shut off the pulsating stream.

"Yeah, he's done," judged Tim, rising from the man whom Knowlton had
downed at last. "Skull's caved in. What 'd ye paste him with?"

"Gun. Cursed thing stuck."

"Uh-huh. Them automats are cranky. Say, lookit the mess Hozy made o'
that guy Hooley-o."

Knowlton glanced at Julio and whistled. Jose's oft-repeated threat to
disembowel a refractory member of the crew had at last been literally
fulfilled.

But the lieutenant had seen worse sights in the shell-torn trenches of
France, and now he kept his mind on his work. Wedging the gun to hold
the tourniquet tight, he lifted his patient from the red-smeared mud and
bore him to the nearest hammock in the crew quarters. Striding back, he
found Tim alternately bathing McKay's head and giving him brandy. In a
moment the captain's eyes opened.

"Some bean ye got, Cap," congratulated Tim, vastly relieved at sight of
McKay's gray stare. "Bullet bounced right off. Here, take another
swaller. Attaboy! Hey, Looey, we better pack this crease o' Cap's, huh?
She keeps leakin'."

"Yep. Dip up the surgical kit. And give Jose a drink. I'll have to tie
his artery, too. How do you feel, old chap?"

"Dizzy," McKay confessed. "What's happened?"

"Lost our crew," was the laconic answer. "All gone west but Jose, and
he's bled white. We'll have to paddle our own canoe now."

For a time after his head was bandaged McKay lay quiet, staring out at
the tiny battlefield and at his two mates working silently on the
wounded arm of Jose. When they came back he spoke one word.

"Schwandorf."

"Yeah! He's the nigger in the woodpile, I bet my shirt. But why? What's
his lay, d'ye s'pose?"

"Perhaps Jose knows," suggested Knowlton. "But he's in no shape to talk
now. Let's see. Schwandorf said he was going to Iquitos?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean anything."

"Probably not. Well, maybe Jose can explain."

There were some things, however, which Jose could not have told if he
would, for he himself did not know them. One was that Schwandorf really
had gone to Iquitos, where was a radio station. Another was that from
that radio station to Puert